


Burning Bright

by orphan_account



Category: Dredd (2012), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is growing unrest out in the Cursed Earth and more mutants than ever have succeeded in scaling the walls of Mega-City One and managed to wreak havoc. Most have been heavily armed with weapons that could only have been obtained from a Mega-City. When these events coincide with several major arms deliveries being uncovered with no chief perpetrator being caught, the Justice Department suspects that one criminal may be pulling the strings. After uncovering more details with the help of Judge Anderson’s considerable psychic abilities, the Chief Judge assigns Judge James Kirk to uncover who this perpetrator is and what he’s trying to accomplish. To Jim’s nervousness, the renowned Judge Dredd is assigned to work with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the 2000AD universe, but to be honest, it's kind of an AU of that. It doesn't follow any specific timeline that occurred in the comic series, though I borrowed from some of the complicated political situations surrounding mutants.
> 
> This first chapter was originally intended to be a short prologue, to explain some of Jim's past and ended up being WAY too long. So, please bear with me. :) The next chapter will be with Jim as an adult and a Judge.

Panting slightly, Jim shook his damp bangs back from his forehead and tilted his face up to the azure sky, closing his eyes. He spread his arms wide so that the sun, combined with the dust dry wind, would dry his clothing faster. His shoes were pretty much a lost cause.

When he opened his eyes, blinking the red and orange spots away, his gaze unerringly found one of the few gaps between the close-knit houses and he looked out across the land beyond Tarsus.

It looked deceptively flat from this angle, an expanse of parched, golden-brown earth that seemed to stretch on endlessly. It was dotted here and there with blurred brown, black, and gray shapes that Jim knew to be rocks. Even though Tarsus was the only home he'd ever known and the walls of the Mega-Cities far out of sight, his skin prickled. Looking out there, across that broad, wasted expanse always brought to mind cracked lips and raw throats. Crawling, pulling yourself forward on stick-thin arms like the mutants who occasionally managed to reach Tarsus before they died.

Then there were other things nearly as dangerous as the sun. Mangy, ravenous packs of malformed coyotes, large birds circling the sky waiting for you to drop your guard, and worst of all, hungry mutants who were so starving they wouldn't grant you the mercy of killing you before they started picking your bones clean. Of course, one should never forget about the Judges. The oppressors from the Mega-Cities. They didn't venture into the Cursed Earth often and Jim had never seen one, but all the same, where they went, death followed… Or so he’d been lead to believe.

The sun was at its pinnacle and blisteringly hot that day, but a shiver passed through him all the same.

A small, weak chuckle sounded behind him, causing Jim's eyebrows to draw together in annoyance. He turned his head and looked at his brother, Sam, where he was leaning against the newly laid jet-black rocks that ringed the mouth of the well. His feet were stretched out in front of him carelessly as he used his only hand to wring out the front of his shirt.

Sam was four years Jim’s senior but smaller, skin paper-thin and so pale he was nearly transparent; his veins resembled blue worms crawling under his skin. Despite that, he wasn't at all sensitive to sunlight, which Jim found strange, though not as strange as Sam's right arm which ended in a smoothly convoluted stump. If you looked closely, the curled shapes of what had almost been fingers became apparent, furled tightly under the taut skin. When Jim was younger this anomaly had fascinated him and he would spend hours examining it. Now that he was a bit older, he supposed he should have found it frightening instead, but growing up in the Cursed Earth, he'd always been aware that Sam had gotten off lucky compared to most mutants.

"What's so funny?" he asked, trying to keep a scowl on his face and failing. He'd always found it difficult to maintain a sulk against his brother.

"Nothing," Sam said, idly tracing patterns in the loose earth with his left hand. "I just noticed you were thinking about those stories I told you." He grinned mischievously.

Instead of fueling his annoyance into anger, Jim's shoulders slumped in resignation and he didn't bother denying it. Unlike some of the other scary stories Sam told him, it was the true ones that terrified him the most. He crouched next to Sam, regarding the vast buildings that his brother had drawn into ground. As he watched, Sam used his thumbnail to etch out a complex roadway system that connected all of the buildings.

"Do you remember it?" Jim asked softly, trying to turn the dirt sketch to concrete in his mind's eye, to imagine multitudes of colors and the constant rush of traffic; the babble of hundred's of millions of voices. As always, he failed.

Sam's nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed. Vivid cerulean eyes. Kirk eyes. The same color as Jim's and their father's. "I was really young, Jim." He sighed and swiped his carefully made creation out of existence. "I dream about it sometimes, but I can't tell if I'm really remembering or if I just imagine I do." Sam pushed himself up abruptly, struggling to rise to his feet. "C’mon. We better get home."

Jim would have proffered a hand to help him up, but he knew Sam would only take that as an insult, so he simply sighed and stood, as well, dusting off his jeans. He kept a watchful eye on Sam, just in case it looked like he was about to fall. His skin may not have been sensitive to the UV rays, but he got injured more easily than most.

It _was_ about time that they got back or Frank was likely to be pissed off... Well, more pissed off than usual. When Frank was angry at them, there were only two modes he seemed capable of choosing from. Mode One: Frank would fall into a sullen silence and give them both the silent treatment, as though it were some great punishment. Mode Two: Frank would get himself worked up and beat the shit out of them until his fury subsided, while simultaneously lamenting about his inability to obtain recreational substances.

Jim's left cheek was already swelling badly from the hit he'd taken an hour earlier and though he was used to Frank's rages, Sam oftentimes tried to get in the way of Frank's blows and he was much frailer. One of the punches that bruised Jim could break Sam's bones easily.

They had been tasked with the job of carrying several buckets of water back so Frank could bathe. Why, was a mystery to Jim. Frank was too fat for washing to have much effect for long. Even though everyone else -mutants and norms alike- were starving, Frank had somehow maintained his sizable girth and would sweat though his clothes again in ten minutes tops. He didn't even have hair to wash. He shaved his head painstakingly every week with whatever implement he could find that was sharp enough to get the job done.

When he'd told them to get the water, Jim had made the mistake of telling Frank, to his face, that maybe he'd lose some weight if he carried his own damn bucket. That had earned him the slug in the face that was sure to leave a whopper of a bruise. But it had more than worth it to see the fury sink itself into the already deep lines on Frank's forehead and between his brows. He might even have created a few more. Sam had been annoyed with him for "purposely causing trouble", but he'd let it go by the time they'd made it to the well and they'd spent a couple minutes having an immature water fight.

They quickly filled the three dented buckets (two for Jim to carry and one for Sam) and started the quarter-mile trek back to their home. Tarsus was small, housing only about three-hundred permanent citizens, less than fifteen of them norms. The only reason they'd managed to sustain their population was because of the well. It was unpolluted by radiation, clean and pure. Someone had dug deep for it, countless generations ago probably. It was the only decent drinking water for hundreds of miles. Attacks by desperate mutants were commonplace because of it, but they'd survived so far.

The well was in the center of Tarsus, surrounded on all sides by ramshackle houses, some just a couple of wooden planks hammered together with their malformed owners curled inside, watching the outside world with blank, pain-filled eyes. Most mutants in Tarsus weren't so debilitated, but many were.

All of the buildings in Tarsus had been assembled from scavenged bits and pieces of homes and buildings that had stood over a century ago, forced together like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit. The result was far from picturesque, but it certainly complimented the landscape.

Here and there, the few norms that inhabited Tarsus walked about, automatic rifles held negligently in their hands, watching them pass with arrogant smiles. Jim scowled at them openly and would have given them the finger too if his hands hadn't been occupied.

He and Sam made it back to their ramshackle house eventually, through the open entrance (no door) to the kitchen/dining area, and set the pails on the mahogany table that George Kirk had unearthed when he and his family had settled in Tarsus after fleeing Mega-City One. He'd presented it to Winona Kirk on their tenth year anniversary after spending countless hours cleaning and polishing it as best he could with the limited materials he'd had. Sam had told him about it once, when Jim asked him if their mom ever used to smile.

Aside from the scratches, it was truly beautiful with its dark, varnished wood and the gold patterns inlaid around the edges. After setting the pails on the table and helping Sam with his, Jim traced his fingers slowly along them.

"About fucking time," that familiar voice rumbled. Jim looked over and saw Frank's large frame blocking the doorway to the main bedroom. "Wipe that look off your face, Jimmy," he snapped, eyes honing in on the downward twist of Jim's mouth, "and bring that water to the bathroom. Then you two need to go find something else to do instead of hanging around the house all damn day. Your mom's gonna be home soon, don't need you two wrecking up the place before she gets back."

Jim wanted to explode, to swear at Frank, to hurt him in some way. But he was too small. He might have tried anyway (it wouldn't have been the first time), but Sam laid his hand on his shoulder, giving it a warning squeeze. "Do as he says, Jim," he whispered, "then we'll go do something else. Besides, there's something I gotta show you. Remember?"

The delirious, enraged energy subsided slowly, leaving an unsatisfying low burn in its wake. He nodded stiffly, doing his best to ignore Frank's sneer as he carried the pails to the bathroom and lined them up next to the large chipped and rusted basin that they used as a tub. Unlike the table, it was an ugly thing, scavenged from god knew where by their dad.

"We need to stop by the well again anyway," Sam reminded him, grabbing a plastic cup from the shelf and following Jim outside. Jim slowed his pace so Sam could fell into step beside him, kicking a loose stone with the toe of his shoe and sending it skidding down the pathway.

"What is it you wanted to show me anyway?" he asked curiously.

Sam just smiled mysteriously. "It's a secret."

"I won't tell anyone," Jim said quickly.

"I know that, or else I wouldn't be showing you, dummy." He punched Jim's shoulder lightly, causing him to smile stupidly and give Sam's shoulder a gentle knock with his own fist in retaliation.

After filling the cup, Sam led him to the outskirts of the village, well past the houses and hopefully out of sight of the armed norms. The houses, dilapidated as they were, did shield much of the wind from reaching inside Tarsus. Out here it blew strongly, whipping anyone brave enough to venture out -with grains of dirt that stung irritably at exposed skin.

To his a disquiet, Sam led him out well past the town limits, to the places where the earth (which had been flattened around the area where Tarsus had been built) was littered with a debris of rocks, metal and other more random items. The spokes from a bicycle protruded sharply from the ground, promising to gore anyone stupid enough not to watch their step. They sidestepped something that looked like it used to be the steering wheel of a car and picked their way carefully across the ground until it dipped abruptly into a shallow, oval bowl. Jim raised his eyebrows when Sam proceeded down into it, but didn't protest. He failed to see what was so special about it other than the fact that it obstructed the wind enough for him to breathe normally. There were plenty of crater-like hollows exactly like this one. Then Sam crouched down, beckoning him closer.

There, peeping up at them, was a miniscule leafy plant, too green and perfect to be authentic. "Is it real?" Jim asked thoughtlessly, reaching out stroking it gently with his index finger. He pulled his hand back quickly, afraid of hurting it and shot Sam a wondering look. "Did you plant it?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope. I only found it about a week ago. I've been bringing it water every day, just in case. I don't know what kind it is” He suddenly looked forlorn and sat down fully, wrapping his left arm around his knees. “I wish dad were still here. He'd know."

Jim bristled. "Mom would know, too," he said, voice sharper than he'd intended. "We should show this to her when she gets back. It'd make her happy." His voice broke childishly on the last word and he looked away, blinking furiously, his initial happiness at seeing the plant evaporating.

"She might tell Frank," Sam said dubiously, picking at a spot on his elbow. Blood immediately began to flow and Sam uttered a mild curse.

Jim rolled his eyes. "You should know better by now." He pressed his t-shirt to the small scrape and held it there. "She wouldn't tell if we asked her not to."

Sam just shrugged noncommittally in obvious disagreement. Jim knew there was nothing he could say to change his mind, so he let the matter rest and his anger with it.

They reached an unspoken understanding to steer clear of any more delicate subjects for a while and ended up spending the rest of the day there, lying on their backs and gazing up at the sky, pointing out bizarrely shaped clouds to each other between Sam quizzing him on multiplication tables.

Eventually, as the sun began to set, they picked themselves up and dusted off their clothes. Frank would be pissed if they didn't come back, because he wouldn't want to have to fend off accusations of neglect from their mom when she returned.

They were only halfway back to Tarsus when Sam halted him, hand a striking bluish-white against Jim's darkly tanned arm. "What is that?" They shaded their eyes from the red glow of the setting sun (Jim with his hand, Sam with his left forearm). Set against the flat expanse of the west was a line of dark smudges.

Jim squinted, straining his eyes. A gasp left him. "People. Or mutants. Lots of them." His heart thumped harder in his chest and he exchanged an apprehensive glance with Sam. "Do you think it's mom?" Jim asked uncertainly.

"No. Mega-City One's in the east, dummy. Besides, there weren't that many people with her. C'mon." He took Jim's wrist in his frail grasp and hurried him back to Tarsus, both casting anxious glances over their shoulders the entire way.

They'd hardly made it past the first couple buildings, when all the armed norms rushed past them, ignoring them completely, eyes focused on the approaching party. Despite how much they loathed Frank, they couldn't very well keep him out of the loop, so they informed him of what was happening. He rushed off to get his own look, telling them (under threat of disembowelment) not to leave the house.

He came back over half-an-hour later, telling them that a man had arrived with over a thousand people under his command. _Real_ people, not mutants… most of them anyway. He had brought food; clothing, weapons and (best of all in Frank's opinion) booze. He said he would be willing to give out some of these precious items in exchange for the use of their well. Apparently, he went by the name of Kodos.

 

 

**1 Month Later**

The scent of blood permeated the limited amount of air Jim had to breathe, catching in his nostrils. It was by no means an alien scent but far stronger than he'd ever smelled it before. Now it was accompanied with the sickeningly sweet smell of burning flesh which was even worse. It was cloying and thick; inescapable.

He would have tried breathing through his mouth, except that Sam had told once that it was harder for people to hear you breathing through your nose. As a precaution, Jim had his hand clamped over his mouth, fingers digging painfully into his cheek.

Years back, when his dad had been building the house, he'd had the idea of digging out a hollow in each room, before putting the boards in place, so they would have a place to hide in case enemies came to call. Jim had chosen the one in mom and Frank's room because it was the largest. He was unduly grateful for a spot to hide, but he was sweltering.

Sweat beaded on his skin, causing his t-shirt to stick to him uncomfortably, like a damp and wrinkled second skin. Sweat slicked his palms, dripping through his tightly clenched left fist and finding a home on the earthen floor. He was sure it was midday now, as it had gotten so much hotter. He was so thirsty; he would have welcomed a single bead of water on his parched tongue.

His entire body ached from being stuck in the fetal position for over ten hours … or had it been twenty? Jim had lost count a while ago, having drifted into a waking doze even through the screaming and the gunfire followed by something he'd never heard or felt the like of before. Something nuclear, perhaps. All he knew was that it had made the made the ground shake so hard he’d been afraid the house would collapse. But you couldn't stay awake forever and he had become almost desensitized to the various noises and rumblings after several hours.

He had only woken when the sounds had begun to abate. Now they'd stopped altogether. He supposed Kodos must have done in the newcomers who had arrived via hovercraft and was burning the bodies. A few had probably joined him, swelling his force beyond three-thousand. Smart or cowardly people who knew it was preferable to join Kodos over being tortured.

It could mean good things for Jim though. Perhaps Kodos assumed he had been killed by the firebombs that had been dropped from the hovercrafts yesterday. Maybe he’d already left Tarsus, unknowingly leaving Jim alive. Maybe he and his company were already well on their way to Mega-City Two.

Jim hadn't heard any noises for hours now and wondered if it would be safe to leave his hiding place. See if he could forage any food or supplies from the wreckage Kodos -and then the opposition- had made of Tarsus. He was lucky that his house had survived at all.

He was seriously thinking that it was time to leave when the rough cadence of deep, male voices sounded from much too close. The voices grew louder until he could make out actual words.

"-searched this structure yet?"

"Not yet, sir. We'll do it immediately."

"Be sure you do. We don’t want to overlook anything."

Seconds later, Jim heard the trudge of heavy, booted feet entering the house and panic overrode his common sense, causing him to start violently and hit his head on planks above him with a resounding _thunk_. His hand pressed too hard against his mouth and he felt pain as his teeth cut slightly into his lips.

"What was that?" a female voice asked.

The footsteps halted and Jim's stomach to roil with apprehension, especially when they suddenly began again, approaching the room he was in with careful treads. He could tell there were more than two people.

"This room?" a male voice inquired quietly. Jim wished he could see where the man was indicating.

The footsteps grew closer and closer until the floorboards right above his head gave an alarming creak. A muffled gasp escaped him even through his hand. There was a moment of complete silence and Jim didn't breathe at all, hoping they would think they'd simply imagined it. That they would just walk away.

There was loud _crash_ and splinters of wood rained down on him. He was momentarily blinded when a sudden shaft of afternoon sunlight pierced through the wreck that had been made of the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed at the sudden radiance after being so long in the dark, and then opened them slowly to half-mast. With his eyelashes filtering it, the beam of yellow-red light fractured into a kaleidoscope of dazzling colors, much too brilliant to belong in the broken, cruel world Jim inhabited.

His mind was screaming at him to get up. _Now_! To fight, make a run for it. But his body refused to listen. _I'm dead_ , he thought. He was going to be slaughtered just like Sam and mom and Frank. Tears burned behind his eyes.

But, when gloved hands ripped up the rest of floorboards and reached down to grab him, a fury such as he'd never known erupted inside of him and he ignored his body's protests. Spitting with fury, he grabbed the thick wrist that was attached to one of the hands in both of his and twisted it hard, trying to with all his might to break it. The angle was all wrong though, so Jim tried to bite into it instead, digging his teeth into the leather between the armored panels and attempting to tear out the flesh beneath. There was a harsh curse as the man yanked his arm back, tearing it from Jim's grasp.

The sound of laughter from the woman boomed throughout the small room accompanied by a jest: "watch out, Marcus. There's a large rat under those floorboards."

"Don't shoot him," a voice ordered thunderously, cutting through the laughter like a whip. "Get him out of there and let me have a good look at him." The one whom Jim had bitten gave a snort of annoyance but proceeded to obey in silence.

Two pairs of hands reached back inside the alcove and Jim bit, scratched and punched at them viciously, all to no avail. One of the larger hands curled into a fist and smashed brutally against the side of his head and cheek repeatedly. Black spots swan before his vision and the iron tang of blood flooded his mouth, mingling with the tastes of dust and leather. He felt a couple of his molars rolling on his tongue.

Finally, his body gave up the fight and went completely limp. As he was dragged out, a broken nail caught on his leg and ripped through the fabric of his jeans, tearing into his calve painfully. His feet hit the ground and he would have buckled to the floor, except he was being held tightly in place by a pair of hands holding his arms behind his back.

As he became accustomed to the sunlight, Jim saw that the men standing in front of him were wearing uniforms that appeared to be a combination of leather overlaid with bulletproof vests and panels. They were carrying guns unlike any he'd ever seen before and their features were almost entirely obscured by heavy-looking red and black helmets that left only the lower halves of their faces free. His heart stuttered in his chest in horrified recognition. It wasn't Kodos' men after all.

Judges. Three of them. One holding him (obviously the woman) and two standing in front of him.

"You could have just stunned him." It was the Judge who had ordered them to get Jim out of his hiding place who spoke. "If I'd wanted to deal with this kind of ineptitude I would have brought along a couple rookies."

The uncomfortable silence following this statement was broken, when the woman Judge spoke again. "I don't think this one is a mutant, sir."

The Judge who seemed to be in charge stepped forward slowly at her words. He was thinner than the other man, but Jim could sense the respect the two held for him. Even through the helmet, Jim could tell the Judge was gazing intently at him. Jim wanted to drop his gaze to the floor, but resisted the impulse, glaring back with everything he had at his own face reflected back at him in the dark visor.

"Marcus. Get someone from the Medical Unit to come down here to take a sample of his blood," the Judge said after a few seconds of thought. "Then have your wrist taken care of."

"Yes, sir." The one named Marcus departed and while they waited for a person from medical to arrive the man issuing the orders made a quick inspection of the rest of the house. Jim watched and listened with dull resentment as he rooted through their things and opened the other cubbyholes, finding nothing and no one, just like Jim knew he wouldn’t.

By the time he was finished searching, a young man with disheveled hair and a trying desperately to not look harried arrived, dark uniform slightly rumpled and a small metal case in hand. The Judge didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Take a blood sample of his blood," small nod in Jim's direction "and have it checked without delay. We have to be out of here in a few hours and I'd like to know what he is."

The… doctor, Jim supposed, opened the metal case he'd brought and pulled out a fresh syringe. Jim didn't even flinch when the needle was poked into his arm and his blood was extracted quickly and efficiently. The doctor left the house immediately after taking the sample to run said tests, Jim guessed. At first he had no idea why they would do such a thing... then he remembered when Kodos had first arrived at Tarsus. He'd tested Jim's blood too, before declaring that it was “pure”. Several minutes after that, Jim had been forced to watch as they put a bullet through Sam's head.

"I'm not a mutant," he found himself informing them, voice hollow, blood dripping out when he opened his mouth. He was so tired; his head was spinning from this swift turn of events and the recent abuse his body taken and he was finding it difficult to worry about what would happen next.

"I don't think you are, but it's necessary for us to verify it." The Judge looked over Jim's head at the woman Judge holding him. "Find Ryan and have him search the remaining structures with you," he commanded.

She obeyed instantly and Jim almost fell to the floor as he was released.

"You," the Judge said to Jim when they were left alone. "Come, sit with me." He jerked his head in the direction of the dining room. Jim followed, feeling utterly helpless as he was ordered around his own home.

The Judge took a seat at the table, and indicated that Jim should do the same.

The urge to run had Jim tensing his limbs in preparation. But that would be stupid. Even if he managed to get out of this room, other Judges would be waiting outside. They'd probably shoot him. All he'd be _-was a pale body lying in a growing pool of blood, blue eyes wide and unseeing-_

"You don't have to sit. We can have this conversation just as well with you standing."

Jim tensed, having forgotten the Judge was there for a moment. He dillydallied, glancing between the chair and the door while the Judge looked on impassively. Finally, knowing the futility of any opposition, Jim pulled out one of the chairs and sat across from him. He had to fight to maintain a proper glare, as all he wanted to do was curl up and cry; grieve for his family.

The Judge reached up and slid off his helmet. He was a little younger than Jim had been expecting, though his hair dark hair was littered with threads of silver and permanent lines were just beginning to appear on his face. His pale blue eyes stared resolutely into Jim's, appraising him seriously. He looked hot, hair damp and matted to his head from wearing his helmet. A thin trickle of sweat ran down temple. "What's your name?" The way the question was phrased made it sound like the man had expectations, which made Jim curious in spite of himself.

"Jim," he answered reluctantly.

The man raised his eyebrows, causing a temporary span of creases to span his forehead. "Is that all?"

"Kirk," Jim finished. "James Kirk."

The Judge leaned forward suddenly, expression unsettled. "What's your middle name? Your father and mother's names?"

Jim had to look away from the intensity of the man's gaze. He wrapped his arms around his chest protectively, trying to keep from shuddering as the events of the last month rolled over him, threatening to break him. "George and Winona. I'm- My middle name's Tiberius."

The silence stretched for a good three minutes as the man processed the information. "Well, Kirk. I'm Judge Pike and-"

"I know," he interrupted tonelessly. "I read your badge."

"You can read?" There was genuine surprise in his tone.

"Yeah. My brother taught me."

The man, Judge Pike, shifted forward in his seat. "Do you know who your father was? Before he lived in Cursed Earth, I mean."

Jim's eyes were drawn to Pike's face again. "Yes. He was- he was a- a Judge. In Mega-City One." The words were bitter in his mouth. His mom, Sam, and even Frank had despised the Judges. They were dictators, who kept the mutants under their boot and tore families apart. Their only use out here in the Cursed Earth was a place for the inhabitants to direct their anger towards. "Did you know him?"

Judge Pike heard the revulsion in his voice. "Your father left the city of his own accord to escape justice," he stated firmly. "He was a good Judge and a good friend of mine before he broke the law. He believed in what he did. What we continue to do. I'm surprised he never told you about me."

Jim shrugged, "He died when I was two. I don't know what he thought about the Judges before he died."

A flicker of emotion crossed Pike's face, too quickly for Jim to read. "How old are you, Kirk?"

"Eight." He thought he knew what Pike really wanted to know. "He died of some disease. I don't know what. There aren't any doctors out here." Obviously.

Another stretch of silence, then: "If there are no irregularities in your genetic code, and you answer my questions about Kodos truthfully, I'd like to take you back with us to Mega-City One and have you take an aptitude test to enroll you in the Academy of Law. You're a bit older than we usually take, but…" he let the sentence trail off.

Jim's head snapped up fully, the emptiness in his chest where his family had been, filled with a conflicting mixture of disgust and utter elation and relief. He'd grown up being told to hate the Judges, so he had, but the chance to leave the Cursed Earth and to have a life of some kind in one of the cities; it was more than anyone else got to hope for out here. And he knew now the real reason Judge Pike had wanted to have his blood tested.

He opened his mouth then closed it again, torn with uncertainty.

"You don't have to give me an answer on that just yet. Right now, we have other things to discuss," Judge Pike said, reaching into his belt and pulling out a small silver device. He set it on the table between them. "Record." A small, blue light blinked on and Pike took a deep breath before saying:

"This is recording number seventeen, which will contain further information and evidence against the tyrant fashioning himself as Kodos, though the tyrant in question is now deceased." Jim felt an electric spark of aggressive joy and wonder at the last word Judge Pike spoke. "Interrogation of James Tiberius Kirk, a resident of the town, Tarsus, which resides in the Cursed Earth, being carried out by Judge Christopher Pike."

Judge Pike focused on Jim once more. "You will tell me all you know of the mutant named Kodos, and answer any questions I may ask you truthfully. I'll know if you lie." His voice was firm and commanding again. Jim half-expected him to put his helmet back on

Jim's throat felt dry and itchy, tongue thick with blood. He wondered if he'd be allowed a glass of water if he asked for it. "I don't know much," he said, licking his dry lips, "only that a month ago he and a lot of his men came to Tarsus." His stomach churned and he knew that the only reason he didn't puke right then and there, was because he hadn't eaten anything for almost three days. Taking a deep breath, he began talking…

It took nearly an hour for Judge Pike to wrangle every single little detail he could out of him about Kodos. Everything he had said or done that Jim could remember. Jim's voice was hoarse, vocal cords rough and raw by the time he was finished speaking.

"Recording complete," Judge Pike said, making a show of tucking the thing back into his belt so Jim could have a moment to collect himself, wipe his wet eyes with the backs of his shaking hands.

"Is he really dead?" Jim asked hoarsely. "Kodos, I mean."

"Yes. We burned his body and those of his men." Judge Pike pushed back his chair and stood up, sliding his helmet back on. "I'll be back in one hour with your blood results and your answer if they check out. Judge Marcus will bring you sustenance." He left without looking back.

Despite how hungry he was, when Judge Marcus (who was still holding his wrist awkwardly) deposited a tray of food before him, he could hardly eat a bite. The only thing he managed to keep down was the glass of water that had come with the food, using the first few mouthfuls to rinse the blood out of his mouth. He probed the ragged gaps where his molars had been with his tongue and wondered when he'd expelled them from his mouth. He kept a careful eye on Marcus who'd obviously been instructed to stay in the room to guard him.

His thoughts kept straying to his family and to the terrible things Kodos had done to the mutants who lived in Tarsus. Were the judges really so different from Kodos even if they _had_ killed him? Would he be a traitor to his family if he tried to become a Judge?

Twenty minutes before Judge Pike was supposed to be back, Jim had already made up his mind. Not that it was much of a choice. Stay here to die a slow death by radiation or a quick, violent one by rogue mutants. Or go to Mega-City One to (maybe) be trained as a Judge and most likely die violently anyway. If Sam had still been alive he would have stayed. They could have made their way across the Cursed Earth, found a new place to call home. A real one. Devoid of Frank and their empty-eyed mother. But as things stood...

When Pike came trudging back into his Jim's old house, trailing fresh dirt (and unthinkable ashes) into the room, informing him that his test were results regular, Jim forcibly uprooted the bitterness that had been planted then cultivated inside him since he was born. He took a steadying breath and told Judge Pike calmly, that _yes,_ he would be most interested in becoming a citizen of Mega-City One and taking a Judge aptitude test.

Pike's lips quirked upwards in something that could well be construed as a satisfied smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be feature several points of view. The next chapter will too, but after that I shall probably stick pretty much exclusively to Jim's POV (because he's awesome like that and this is mostly HIS story!). Also, a simple warning, the technology in this fic is a mix between Star Trek and Dredd/2000AD, so no torches and pitchforks... unless you absolutely can't resist. ;p
> 
> Next chapter we'll be getting into the actual plot that is detailed in the summary. Yay!

**Twenty Years Later**

Before his alarm had sounded off in the morning, Jim's eyes snapped wide open. His heart was stuttering, hands clenched so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh of his palms. He'd been dreaming, something feverish and awful that had begun with Frank bellowing curses into his face, then coalesced into the fear he'd experienced the first time an instructor at the Academy of Law had smoked him out.

It had happened a few seconds after he'd stepped into that grand, old building with eleven other kids his own age. He'd been looking around the place in dazed wonderment, unable to believe that it was real, that he was _there_. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

He'd been enjoying the echoing sounds his feet made on the marble floor and watching trainees, rookies and judges going about their business. His former leery opinion of them had evaporated in facing the reality of their (and now his) world. However, his elated bubble had been burst when one of his instructors suddenly got into his face and chewed him out for over five minutes, in front of everyone, for not paying attention to the situation at hand. Namely, waiting around for said instructor to appear.

Since then Jim had been yelled at and humiliated by his superiors more times than he could keep track of; maybe more often than anyone else who'd ever attended the Academy. Growing up the way he had, his natural setting when someone yelled at him was to shout right back, to give back _more_ than he got. But at the Academy he'd had to learn to hold his tongue and take criticism and insults in complete silence while maintaining a stolid expression. One simply got used to having verbal abuse hurled at them every time they fucked up, but that first time had been so startling and humiliating that he'd never forgotten it. Still dreamed about it, obviously.

Jim's training kicked in when he was fully conscious and his heart rate slowed as his mind accommodated the irrational fear and put it aside, replacing it with a wave of calm self-assurance. He took deep, slow breaths as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of his room. Light seeped in faintly through the blinds covering the windows.

He leaned over and snatched his PADD off the bedside table, checking the time. It was a bit past 0430 hours. He didn't technically have to be up until 0500. When that time hit, it would officially be time to revert to his "regularly scheduled programming".

Sighing he opened up his schedule for the day, skimming through it quickly with a gnawing sense of disappointment. It was a twenty-eight hour shift, and he would be spending all this morning in a city-block court, overseeing the various cases and dealing out judgment accordingly. _Fuc_ _k!_

As zany as it sounded, the truth was that he'd rather spend his shifts dealing out justice in the streets and every single risk that came with it (imminent death chief among them) than have to go through the tedious court procedures. Observing and listening to a bunch of fucked up criminals whining and complaining about how much their lives sucked –as if they truly believed he would take that into account before he sentenced them to however long in the Iso-Cubes– was not Jim's idea of exciting. He'd only done it once before over a year ago now, and had absolutely loathed it.

"Blinds, open," he intoned, reveling in the pinkish glow of early morning light for a second, before deactivating his alarm (seeing as he wouldn't need it) and rolling out of bed. He made it back up as neatly as possible. Every now and again the head of Sector House 18 would perform random room inspections to remind the judges that they were still expected to keep their quarters up to the immaculate Academy standards.

It wasn't difficult for Jim to do as his living quarters consisted of only three sparsely furnished rooms; a combined kitchen and dining area, bedroom and off that a bathroom. It was still a hell of a lot more than most citizens had though and it wasn't as if Jim needed a lot. He hardly got the chance to spend time here anyway.

He brought his PADD to the kitchen with him and considered sending Sulu a message asking what hours he was on for, but decided against it after a second of thought and instead clicked on a short playlist of classics from the year 2057 as he set about his standard waking routine. This involved gorging himself on eggs whites, fruit and once his stomach had settled, doing several hundred push-ups, crunches, and pull-ups using the metal beam in the door frame of his bedroom.

Ever since entering the Academy and then achieving Judge status, Jim's life had revolved around routine and he'd grown mostly used to eating insane amounts of healthy protein everyday, grueling conditioning exercises on top of endless variety of Judge duties. It had been especially difficult for Jim to acclimatize to all the regulations that came with living in a city after living so lawlessly and thoughtlessly as a child. Learning to hold his tongue and obey his superiors had been even more challenging.

Of course, the occasional tryst helped alleviate much of his frustration… there was this one stripper he'd saved a couple times that he was rather fond of. She told him her name was Gaila, but he was pretty certain that that wasn't true. She seemed to regard Jim as her knight in shining armor, which he found slightly amusing. Judge Sulu, on the other hand, found the entire situation hysterical though he always halfheartedly reprimanded Jim for carrying on with an illegal liaison.

Strict adherence to every rule aside, Hikaru Sulu was literally the most cheerful, blasé Judge that Jim had ever met, which was kind of weird considering the kinds of activities that filled the entirety days. But it also meant that he was a lot of fun to be around on rare off-duty time. Also, he was a good person to spend time with for mental health purposes if nothing else.

Generally, Jim didn't pal about with other judges outside of having to partner up with them on especially difficult operations. Sulu was the exception. They were both assigned to Sector 18 and lived in the same sector house, which meant that, when they'd discovered a similar sense of humor on top of a genuine passion for their jobs, they'd become Velcro to each other. The old term "drinking buddy" came to mind sometimes, which was more than a little ironic.

To be frank, much of the time, Jim had no clue why Sulu had become a Street Judge. He had passed all the exams and assessments by the skin-of-his-teeth and was recommended by every higher-up to become a hovercraft or space shuttle pilot, or maybe even part of a communications personnel. He was much more suitable to _any_ of those positions, he'd been told constantly. But he'd been determined to achieve Street Judge status, and he'd done so just barely. Jim was infinitely grateful that he had.

Feeling pumped after his workout (too bad it was going to be wasted in court), he took a quick shower then began the time arduous process of putting on his uniform.

The assortment of underclothes, leather and various armored vests that his uniform was comprised of were very restrictive and uncomfortable, but that was a helpful reminder to him that he wasn't merely Jim anymore, not when he wore it. By the time he picked up his Lawgiver and waited for the mechanical _clink_ that informed him his ID had been verified, he was Judge Kirk. The knowledge always made him stand taller, gave him greater confidence. After ordering the lights off, he walked out the door at exactly 0600.

 

**OOO**

Dredd didn’t get nervous persé, it simply wasn't in his nature. Having spent literally his entire life living and breathing the law and the unlimited ways to use and prevent violence; staying calm and controlled even while staring down death in its various undesirable guises was simple. But in his opinion, anyone who could walk down this dead-end alley (especially as evening was falling) and not feel the slightest hint of uneasiness was either very inebriated or very unintelligent.

An emergency call had been placed from a citizen a few minutes ago, a woman who claimed to have heard shots fired from the apartment complex adjacent to hers. Dredd had only responded because he was in the vicinity and he was aware that it wasn't something most of his fellow judges would look into (himself usually included) as there were so many verified crimes occurring.

After all, it could have been a prank call. The citizen could have been mistaken about the location of the shots. Maybe she'd just heard a group of teenagers messing around with homemade firecrackers. Maybe someone was getting in a little target practice. Or maybe a crime _had_ occurred; a murder perhaps, or someone messing around with an illegally obtained firearm.

The apartment complex (Willow Grove) the citizen had allegedly heard the shots issue from was relatively small compared to the tall grim ones around it. It was relatively small compared to _any_ housing complex Mega-City One actually, topping out at miniscule thirty stories. He'd also discovered upon reaching Willow Grove, that the front entrance had been walled-over along with every single window. From the look of things, it had been done several years ago.

He idled his Lawmaster in front of the building for a minute, earning anxious looks and a wide berth from passersby. He mostly ignored them while he looked up more information about Willow Grove on his GPS. He was unsurprised to discover that the building had been deemed unfit for habitation by Sector 4 Maintenance and closed down. It had had a demolition warning on it for over five years. It was surely inhabited only by vagrants now.

What did surprise him was that the back entrance had been left alone. The only way to reach it was by the alleyway that ran behind the block. Not only that, Willow Grove _was_ the dead-end. It was what would have been termed, in the old days, as suspicious, but Sector 4's layout had always been odd. In fact, many buildings and blocks in it were situated exactly like this one.

With a small aggravated sigh he pulled out into the street again and drove to the end of the block and around one side until he reached the mouth of the alley. He saw that it was extremely narrow, barely wide enough for a car to pass through. It was dark as well. Once the sun had set, he supposed that a person with normal vision (and sans flashlight) would be virtually blind. Driving down there seemed like an exceptionally bad idea, but he accelerated anyway, slowly enough that he would be able to stop if he met a person and not have to resort to veering into a brick wall to avoid a collision.

It turned out to be a wise decision, as he found it necessary to swerve several times to avoid a myriad of potholes and large, crumbling chunks of blacktop. It looked like some strange beast had come along and gouged out bits of road with its claws then dropped the clods to the side.

The buildings that shared the block and alley with Willow Grove were all occupied and Dredd disliked the way they seemed to lean over him, as if they were going to topple at any second. Every one was well over seventy stories high and filled with countless windows. He knew he was being watched and also knew there was nothing much he could do about it.

It was a relief to reach the end of the alley and he parked his bike several yards from Willow Grove's entrance; a large hunk of scarred, black-painted metal set into the crumbling grayish bricks; and kicked the stand down.

Hoping this whole thing wasn't going to turn out to be a huge waste of time, he stood up and –after adjusting his leg-holster before pulling out his Lawgiver– advanced on the door, ignoring his body's natural impulse to tense when he turned his back on all the other buildings.

He paused before the door for a second, listening intently. Not a sound. But that was hardly surprising considering how thick it looked. Knocking would’ve been ludicrous, so he closed a gloved hand around the door handle, already making contingency plans for when it refused to open.

It wasn't locked, however. As a matter-of-fact, it swung open easily (not even a creak) when he gave it a slight shove, revealing a long linoleum hallway that was dimly lit by an ancient battery-powered lamp. Said lamp was sitting on a stool only several feet from the door, accompanied by a half-empty water bottle. As soon as he entered the building, his sense of smell was assaulted by the odors of damp decay intertwined with the unmistakable scent of bleach. That was of little concern next to the shouts echoing down from a staircase on his left which clearly led to the second story, and the insistent, thickly accented voice issuing from a walkie-talkie that had been left at the foot of the stool.

 _Hello! Sean, are you zhere?! Peek up, dammit! Judge! A Judge has just entered ze building_ Your _building"_

Someone had obviously their station unattended in favor of the argument that was taking place upstairs. Dredd smirked as he picked up the device, examining it for a moment before turning a small knob on the side which effectively cut off the voice in the midst of delivering its dire warnings.

He decided since he’d already come this far, he might as well take a look up the stairs and see what the argument was about... and how many people were there, as well. The stairs were solid enough, and the coating of dust muffled his footsteps as he took them slowly, voices above growing clearer.

"Nero's gonna have both our hides, you fuckin' asshole. We're done, we're fuckin' done."

"Calm the fuck down, Sean. It's not that big a deal. We'll just say one a them did it. We'll say he wasn't keeping a close enough watch on them and one of em' got hold of a gun and-"

"As if he'll believe that shit!"

By the time Dredd reached the landing, his interest was more than a little peaked. He saw that he was in a hallway nearly identical to the one he'd just left. All the doors were closed except for one on the right hand side, which was thrown wide, golden-yellow light spilling out; illuminating what would otherwise have been absolute darkness. He approached the door cautiously and kept close to the wall as he peered around the frame carefully, Lawgiver set to rapid fire, body tensing in case they were facing towards him.

The room was starkly lit with a bare bulb in the sent of the ceiling. The room was vacant of furniture beyond a sagging suede couch that probably hosted a vast number of insect species and several large, metal crates. Two men had their backs to the door. All he could see were their shaved heads and the backs of their jackets. One was wearing green and had a hand clamped tightly on the shoulder of one wearing white and red, murmuring quieter words in his ear, trying to calm him. Both were carrying AK's of some sort. A third man lay face down on the floor. Bullet holes riddled his body.

The room was just large enough for the corners to be shadowed, which was why he almost overlooked the other occupants of the room.

A group of young children were huddled in one corner, seated cross-legged on the floor, clutching bottles of water in their small hands. None of them could have been over ten years of age. They were staring right at him, eyes huge and dark as they watched him. Many of their faces were twisted in odd, grotesque ways. Extremely prominent bones. Missing noses and lips. Skin so pale it couldn't be explained away by too little time spent outdoors. In spite of all that, they didn't appear to have been mistreated in any way.

His stomach tightened reflexively and he felt slightly cold. He put a gloved finger to his lips, before manually setting his Lawgiver to stun. The men were too engaged in their conversation to pay attention to where the children were looking, and still had their backs to Dredd when he fired stunning shots into each of their backs, causing them to collapse nearly silently onto their dead comrade.

With quick efficiency he secured their wrists with zip-cords under the curious gazes of the mutant children and commed into Control, keeping a watchful eye on them. "Dredd to Control. Do you have a lock on my location?"

 _"Affirmative, judge,"_ a cool female voice answered. "Sector 4, sub-sector 9. The condemned Willow Grove apartment complex. Is that the correct location."

"Affirmative. Send backup immediately and a meat wagon. I have a body for resyk, two perps for questioning and ten mutant children who look like they may have been held captive. There may be more perps in the building and there are definitely more in the vicinity, They have a clear line of sight on Willow Grove. Location unknown. Please notify the Chief of the situation."

_"Copy, Dredd. Backup is on its way. We will notify Chief Pike at once."_

The children watched him impassively as he stood vigil by the door, and he watched them impassively in return as he waited for the promised back-up to arrive.

**OOO**

Hanley looked apprehensive and with very good reason, in Nero's opinion. He felt his lips pulling back into their customary snarl. "Again, Han? _Fucking again_!" He kicked out in a short fit of rage, upending the small table that held his dinner. The glass plate smashed, sending spinach and tofu flying. Water splashed everyone in the vicinity along with tiny chips of glass. Most didn't flinch, much too used to their boss’s outbursts to be startled after all these years.

Hanley grimaced at the nickname but wisely decided not to mention it. Nero breathed deeply and closed his eyes, bringing his fingertips to his temples to rub away a nonexistent headache. He only did it now out of habit as the debilitating migraines that used to plague him had been cured almost ten years ago, but the familiar action calmed him like nothing else could… Well, that wasn't entirely true. All his enemies headless and gift-wrapped for him would have gone a long way toward calming his mind, but that was simply wishful thinking, and too much of _that_ was extremely dangerous. It could make one complacent.

"Zhere v-vas nozing ve could have done-" one of his new recruits began, looking extremely upset, then frightened at the furious look Nero shot him.

"You could have done your fucking jobs," Nero snarled, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. "But no, you allowed a Judge to fucking prance into the building and confiscate our property." There were no words strong enough to describe his ire. Another consignment of guns and children lost. He considered having all the people who stood before him burned alive (excluding Hanley, of course), but it just seemed like a lot of work on top of everything else. Besides, he would need every hand available to find a new place that it was safe to use as a holding area and then have it set it up. He could afford to lose the apartment complex in sector 4, but he hadn't fucking wanted to. The place was a perfect location: out of the way, generally Judge-free with a few inhabitants who could be paid off cheaply to keep their mouths shut… or so he'd thought.

Nero had fought hard for the turf he'd won and didn't want to surrender it. Hanley should have known better than to leave newbies in charge, even for a day. They hadn't earned their stripes yet. nor proven their loyalty.

"But sir, it wasn't just _a_ Judge. It vas _zhat_ one. Judge Dredd." The boy stumbled over the "r" a little, in a way that Nero knew his wife would have found endearing. All it succeeded in doing was pissing him off more.

"Do you really believe that I give a fuck which Judge it was? They're all the same in my book. Now, what ought you to have done?" he asked the idiot boy who had spoken. He looked to be about fifteen; if he hadn't been so brilliant, he would have been working in one of Nero's prostitution rings instead of joining his crew. He was the most amazing shot Nero had seen with a sniper though which was why he'd had the boy taken from East-Meg Two and recruited him to his cause in the first place. He was regretting that decision now. To think... Dredd could have been out of his hair (hypothetically) if Chekov hadn't frozen up.

"Killed ze Judges, gotten ze veapons and kids out of zhere ASAP and zhen contacted you," he answered immediately, looking apprehensive and guilty, fidgeting with his gun. There was a small red line on his neck where the strap had dug in. He'd been stationed in the apartment building across the way along with five other sharp-shooters to keep an eye out for situations like the one that had transpired.

"That is correct," Nero said, voice dripping with feigned patience. "What I want to know is _why_ you didn't follow protocol." Why had Hanley left this idiot in charge? Chekov may well’ve been brilliant in many aspects, but the drive to do whatever was necessary for the cause wasn't one of them. "Now two of my men and all those kids are being taken to the Justice Department. If my men are interrogated, who knows what they'll say. I don't even _know_ how much they know! Not only that, we lost three-hundred arms today, along with a shit ton of ammunition. This is _unacceptable_." He tapped his fingers against his armrests thoughtfully and no one spoke.

Nero brought a hand to his face rubbing over the stubble that only grew on the left side of his jaw, waiting as the lava that was his anger bubbled down to a dull froth. He really wasn't in the mood to kill his own men today, even if a few had displeased him. Not even Chekov.

He spun his chair around abruptly, grabbing his PADD off the table and setting it in his lap, quickly opening up a digital map of Mega-City One and zooming in on various sections, studying the statistics. "Sector 11 doesn't host any of our operations but sector 12 does," he said just loud enough for everyone crowded into the small room to hear. "After cleaning up this mess," he leveled each person with an individual glare, "we're going set up a holding area in 11. Hanley, you know the clean up drill, so supervise it and assign our friend Chekov here to an operation that he can't fuck up." Hanley gave him an ironic salute him that had Nero grinding his teeth. Nero seriously thought about having him scourged sometimes. If any of his men needed a fucking lesson, it was Hanely. "You, Glen, get me more dinner. Everyone else, just get out of my fucking sight. _Now_." They all scrambled to obey, Chekov looking extremely relieved.

He took a deep breath after the room was cleared and took out his PADD. He typed a quick message and sent it off.

_Three of my men were taken into custody today._

_Make sure they don't make it to interrogation_

Ayel replied before Glen even returned with more food.

_I'll take care of it right away, sir._

_What about the children_ _?_

Nero's brow's lifted in surprise. Bad news traveled fast indeed.

_Get them back if you can, but it's not a priority._

_They’re all deaf and illiterate. We should be fine._

After receiving an affirmative, Nero allowed himself to calm down. Everything was going to work out and a few setbacks were only to be expected. But at least one thing was going right today. He was beginning to suspect that Ayel was the only reliable man he had.

 

**OOO**

It turned out that, thanks in large part to a divorcing couple whose financial and property assets were extremely fucked up, Jim ended up spending nearly the entirety of the daylight hours at that damned city-block court session. He had a headache from the endless shouting and accusations and was tempted beyond reason to use one of the pain-relief hypos he had on him, even if they were supposed to be used specifically in emergencies.

He swung a leg over his Lawmaster and started the engine, relaxing into the familiar feeling of it rumbling to life beneath him before tapping through his GPS. He picked a backup request that was only several blocks away.

_"Backup requested in sector 17, sub-sector 5, Lowry's shop. Hostage situation. Any Judge in vicinity, please respond_ _.”_

"Judge Kirk to Control, I'll be at Lowry's in five." It only a couple blocks away and didn't sound like it would take very long to sort out, though one could never be entirely certain. He remembered Lowry's quite well, having eaten there on occasion when he'd first moved to the city. That was before he’d learned that what they advertised as a beef sub was, in fact, _not_ made with beef after unearthing a long, pinkish tail from his sandwich.

_"Copy, Judge Kirk. We've informed your fellow judge that backup is on the way."_

Though the sub-sector streets were crowded, citizens were smart enough to keep out of his way. Jim appreciated that, even though he knew it was more out of fear than respect.

When he turned down the street that contained Lowry's, he wasn't surprised to see that quite a crowd had gathered. The way citizens tended to flock to active crime scenes was absolutely ludicrous to Jim. It was like having a fly buzzing in your ear when you were seriously trying to focus your attention on something. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it, as they were all standing back the required distance and melted away at Jim's approach… only to converge again moments later.

Jim parked his bike beside the other judge's and dismounted, checking his Lawgiver before joining the judge he was supposed to be assisting at the closed entrance to Lowry's. It was a short, very narrow building that looked like it had been forcibly wedged between the two larger structures on either side of it. Someone (the new proprietors, most likely) had apparently found the gray bricks a bit of a bore to look upon and painted over it in neon blue, complete with magenta swirls and a cherry red door. Even through his helmet, Jim found it painful to look at.

To his surprise and (albeit momentary) relief, he saw that it was Judge Sulu who'd commed in the request for backup. It had been a while since they'd last seen each other, as their schedules hardly ever aligned.

"Jim! Shit, am I glad to see you! It's been way too long!" Sulu didn't relax his position by the door, Lawgiver at the ready, though an almost smile quirked his lips. "Five perps, one injured from a shot to the shoulder, three hostages. Armed with handguns. No automatic weaponry, _thank fuck_! How're you doing?"

"Exhausted," Jim answered, not without humor. "I've been in court for basically my entire shift. Yourself? No need to explain the layout. I've been here a couple times. Did you give them no choice but to run in here or are they just completely brainless?"

"I'm dog tired. And yeah, these perps are pretty fucking brainless; but to be honest, I don't think they're too familiar with this sub-sector. They were probably crossing their fingers for a backdoor. This shouldn't be too much of a hassle. I just need someone to go in with me."

There was no back entrance to the place, no second story, no windows. The only way in and out was through the front door, which meant no easy escape route for the perps. However, it wasn't a cakewalk for Judges either, considering that there were no cameras on the inside. No way to see what was awaiting them.

"What's your plan?" Jim asked.

"I already gave them the spiel about giving up their hostages and the consequences if they refuse. I've received no response. Unfortunately, throwing in a stun grenade then barreling inside to take them out is the only plan I can think of."

"That could adversely affect the hostages as well," Jim said doubtfully.

"I am _aware of that_ , Jim," Sulu said with slight annoyance "but the Justice Department isn't going to send more backup for a situation this trivial."

That was certainly true, so Jim conceded the point. "It's your show, Sulu. Just tell me what you need me to do."

"Just toss a stun grenade inside when I kick the door open and then come in shooting with me. If that's too much of an effort on your weary bones, just let me know and you can fetch me a glass of ice water instead," Sulu said with faux dickishness. It wasn't that hot today, but all the layers of their uniforms combined with constant physical exertion always left one boiling.

"It's not as if it's rocket science," Jim deadpanned and after a moment they both grinned briefly. It was commonly known that Jim had excelled in the rudimentary classes back at the Academy. Not through any particular passion or interest, but simply because he had a good memory for shit like that. Montgomery Scott from hovercraft and space shuttle engineering, and Spock from Tech liked to remind him whenever they crossed paths, that if Jim ever felt like retiring from judge life (though that was impossible) he would be more than welcome to join one of their divisions. They would give him an excellent recommendation, they claimed. They'd both taught him at the Academy at different points.

Jim extracted a stun grenade from his belt and programmed it to delay for thirty seconds. He held the round mechanism in his palm carefully, thumb pressing and holding the button that would start the countdown when released.

Seeing that Jim was prepared, Sulu reached out a hand and grasped the door handle, turning it slowly. Then (in a movement that probably seemed very abrupt to the onlookers), Sulu's leg swung around, kicking the door open hard. Sulu leaned away from the entrance as Jim flung the grenade inside right before the door slammed against the opposite wall and jumped back into place, snapping shut. Curses and ineffective gunshots echoed from within.

Before the grenade even went off, the door was yanked open again and a young, dark-haired man darted out, looking sweaty and panicked, shoulder a bloody mess. A gun was clutched in one of his white-knuckled hands and he brought his arm up when he saw all the people standing in front of him. But in his mad dash, he'd overlooked Sulu and Jim entirely; run straight past them as a matter-of-fact, too intent on what lay ahead. The man didn't even get a chance to aim at the citizens before Sulu had planted a bullet deep into the back of his skull.

Shrieks erupted from the watching crowd and Jim heard the sound of many feet stampeding away (fucking finally) as the man –propelled by his forward momentum– landed on the ground face-first with a sickening crunch and skidded across the cement, leaving a short bloody smear behind. The gun he'd been carrying clattered away and Jim didn't hesitate to retrieve it.

The incident lasted only a few seconds, and by the time Jim was back at the door and tucking the gun away to be dealt with later, fresh yells, screams and gunshots (all muffled) sounded from inside Lowry's. The stunner had obviously gone off.

Sulu wasted no time in shouldering through the door and bounding inside, his Lawgiver raised to shoulder height. Jim was close on his heels, eyes assessing the situation in a mere second.

On the left was the dining area where all the tables were bolted to the floor (a smart move on the part of the owners) but several plastic chairs were overturned and a mess of glass from shattered plates and cups littered the floor. Two of the four remaining perps were on the ground in that section, fumbling with their weapons dazedly. The three hostages (a man, woman and a child who looked like she was their daughter) were close by, but too far for the perps to use as human shields. The girl had cut herself badly on one knee and the woman had obviously been trying to staunch the bleeding using her own previously white blouse before the stunner went off. The man's ankle was twisted at an odd angle and his face was completely bloodless. The three regarded Jim and Sulu with the same expressions of dazed terror the perps wore.

The third and fourth perps had managed to drag themselves behind the counter on the right, where a plastic case usually displayed a selection of sandwiches. "Left," Jim barked, turning in that direction and aiming, leaving the perps behind the counter for Sulu to deal with, knowing he'd prefer it that way.

The two perps in his sight were still struggling to raise their guns and Jim took them out easily, one with a carefully placed lethal shot to the abdomen and the second (attempting to take cover ineffectually behind a chair) with a bullet through the temple. The shrill, sobbing screams of the little girl resounded in his head, setting his teeth on edge.

He heard Sulu fire several shots from his right and a cut off yell. Jim shifted his stance to the right, eyes training on the counter and the remaining perp. "You should all exit the building immediately," he advised the citizens, who were just sitting there and gaping like a trio of guppies.

A second later, it was all over. The last perp jumped up, gun at the ready and managed to discharge one final shot, face twisted into a mask of desperate fury. A sound of impact followed by a faint gasp. Jim ignored the feeling of the body sinking to the floor beside him accompanied by soft gulping noises; concentrating on sending a bullet into the perps delicate, unprotected wrist. It exploded in a shower of blood and bits of pure, white bone. A bloodcurdling scream erupted from the young man's throat and he collapsed to his knees trying to hold his shredded skin together, tears streaming from his bulging eyes.

Jim stalked toward him, heavy boots crunching on glass and a few packets of straws, kicking the perp's fallen pistol aside and dragging him (still sobbing) by his good arm out into the dining area and securing him to one of the tables. The citizens hadn't made themselves scarce, but had regained their feet. They looked to be in bad condition though, so maybe it was good they'd stuck around. After ensuring that the perp carried no additional weapons, he went to check on Sulu before contacting Control.

Sulu lay in a growing pool of blood, helmet askew. His Lawgiver still clutched tightly in his hand. Jim knelt beside him and probed the ragged wound in his throat gently. It was hopeless; Sulu couldn't even speak beyond making the wet, choking sounds that occurred every time he attempted to draw breath.

Jim removed Sulu's helmet and set it aside, then with a heavy heart he took off his own. Sulu looked up at him, blinking rapidly. He looked as calm as Jim hoped he would be whenever he faced death for real, the expression in his dark-brown eyes resigned rather than fearful.

He clasped Sulu's free hand firmly and spoke calmly, refusing to get choked up. "Do you want me to end it?" Sulu shook his head and Jim nodded in return, staying silent for the five minutes it took Sulu to die, more than aware of the fact that he should be behaving with more caution.

When at last, Sulu's gurgled breaths ceased entirely, Jim stood and donned his helmet again before slowly advancing with carefully restrained wrath on the perp, whose sobs had quieted into whimpers of pain. He was very young, no older than nineteen and he cringed away when Jim stepped into his bubble of space, staring down at him.

Everyone knew what the sentence was for murdering a Judge, but Jim didn't trust himself to speak the necessary words. He raised his gun until the barrel was within an inch of the man's face. The perp's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, mouth gaping open wordlessly. The sparse growth of reddish-gold hair covering his upper lip and chin combined with those wide, brown eyes made him look ten years old.

"You're the fucking devil," the perp squeaked, "You're the f-fucking d- _devil_.  Why don't you keep th-that helmet off so I can look at y-y-your face while you m-murder me, huh?"

Jim's mouth curled into a snarl as his restraint broke. Instead of beating the perp's head in with the butt of his gun as he wanted so badly to do, he directed the violent hatred he felt into the finger that pulled the trigger of his Lawgiver and the bullet that embedded into the perp's brain.

The girl was crying hysterically again, sending frissons of pain through his skull. Jim commed into Control without further delay, requesting a meat wagon and a Med Unit to care for the injured citizens, informing them that a judge had been murdered. It took ten minutes for them to arrive and another ten for Jim to write up a quick report on his PADD and send it in to the Hall of Justice. As everything was being cleaned up and put back into working order, Jim was walking back to where he'd parked his Lawmaster, averting his eyes from Sulu's bike.

Night had fallen now and all the lights in the city were coming on, giving the familiar streets and structures a slightly ominous, phosphorescent cast. Jim wanted nothing more than get back to his sector house and sleep off this dejecting day. The crowd had truly dispersed for the most part, excluding a group of rowdy teenagers sitting on the roof of a building across the street. Their legs dangled over the edge, and they kicked the heels of their sneakers back against the brick. They were laughing loudly and swigging bottles of orange soda. For a piercing moment, Jim felt a wistful longing to join them. Considering the fact that he was not only a Judge, but also nearly _thirty_ it was doubtful that they would let him participate even if he gave in to the insane urge.

"Hey, Judge," a petite, blonde girl shouted down at him in a jokingly come-hither voice, waving wildly in greeting. This set off a round of wild laughter from some of her friends and terrified shushing from the rest. Several of them reached over to cover her mouth with their hands.

Any other day, Jim probably would have smiled and been tempted to shout something cheeky back, but he couldn't even bring himself to crack a smile as he sat astride his bike and started it. He'd just gotten to the end of the street when his Comm beeped.

_"Important message for Judge Kirk of Sector 17."_

"Copy," he responded listlessly, giving himself a mental kick in the ass for not sounding more alert.

“ _Chief Judge Pike orders you to forgo your usual duties and present yourself at the Hall of Justice tomorrow at 0500 hours."_

_What the hell?_ "Copy. Inform the Chief that I'll be there," he said, guiding his bike down the Judge Causeway and driving back to his sector, keeping an eye out for traffic violators.

He had no idea what the Chief could possibly want to see him about and wasn't really all that curious about it, but it would be nice to lose himself in whatever it was tomorrow. Maybe it had something to do with the mutant situation. He doubted it. The more older and experienced judges were dealing with that bullshit. But one could dream.

Due in large part to the fact that everyone driving a vehicle was very careful to obey traffic laws when they saw him approaching in their rear view mirrors, he was able to make it to his sector house in a decent amount of time without having to pull anyone over. The sector house was a wholly unremarkable-looking fifty-story building that shared the same exterior as many others in Mega-City One. It was the closest he had to a home though, and seeing it in all its lackluster grayness never failed to relax him.

He guided his motorbike down into the underground parking station, acquiescing to the standard eye and hand-print scans. He parked in his designated space, shutting down his Lawmaster so it wouldn't activate until he gave it a voice command tomorrow morning. After another round of identification assessments, he was able to take an elevator up to his floor (3rd) and enter his living quarters (C27).

Upon closing the door behind him, Jim halted, pausing for a long moment in the kitchen. He swayed slightly as his body gave up the fight and allowed the mixture exhaustion and despondency that was always waiting in the wings to creep up and wrap gentle tendrils around him, caressing him like a familiar and welcome lover.

"Lights, sixty-five percent," Jim said wearily, pulling off his helmet and setting it on his standard-issue, black hardwood table, practically stumbling his way to the bedroom. He took off his uniform and put it away in the closet, too tired to clean it just then. He would take care of it when he got off his next shift. He stripped out of his underclothes and threw them down the laundry shoot.

Instead getting his ass into the bathroom right away, he sat naked on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands and pressing his thumbs against his eyes. Colors of red, purple and blue bloomed and faded randomly behind his closed lids. He didn't cry though. He hadn't done that since he was eight and wasn't sure he remembered how.

He'd seen more judges die than he could count in the eighteen years he'd spent at the Academy and the two in active service, but this was very different. Way too personal. He was ashamed to realize that he might sacrifice any number of those if it would bring Sulu back. The small burst of restless energy brought on by his self-loathing propelled him to the bathroom. He programmed the water temperature in his shower to much higher than normal in an attempt to cleanse himself physically and mentally of the day, short as it had been, surprised when the heat didn't sear the flesh right off his bones.

Later, after stuffing himself full of calories that he'd work on converting to more muscle early the next morning, he crawled into bed and watched an old movie on his PADD before reaching into his bedside cabinet and extracting the relatively new sleep-hypos that the Medical Division issued to the judges who preferred them over the traditional sleep-machines.

He measured out a dosage that would give him a solid six hours of sleep then plunged it into his neck with a slight wince. There was just enough time for him to lean over and toss it into the trash-dispenser by his bed before waves of tantalizing obliviousness rolled over him, dragging him under willingly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beat me with a brick. I don't know why. Boo!

Night had fallen, but the city shone brighter than ever, yellow-gold lights illuminating the entirety of it and spreading out several miles beyond the boundary walls. But it wasn't enough to see any approaching threats clearly. It made Hershey's skin prickle and a deep unease settle in her stomach. She walked the perimeter of her section of the wall, the judges spaced widely apart to the right and left of her doing the same. Until the maintenance team managed to repair the spotlights, they were stuck with the low-level emergency ones, which meant that they all had to be extra vigilant.

Her eyes flickered briefly over her fellow judges, one question clear in her mind: _Can I really trust any of you?_ She was certain now, after all the recent brutal attacks from outside, that someone inside the city must be helping the mutants; arming them. Someone (or multiple persons) with inside access to the Hall of Justice, no less. She hoped the SJS was looking into it.

The mutants had been attacking in greater numbers and with less fear than anyone could remember in recent memory, daily finding ways over the walls and shooting their way out of tight spots with weapons from a bygone era of human history. AKMs, Glocks, various grenades including Molotove cocktails. Even worse, they actually had proficiency at said weapons, and far too often succeeded at vanishing into the depths Mega-City One never to be found. They hadn't dared sending any more Judges out beyond the walls after the last ten had been delivered back to them mutilated and headless.

Mega-City Two and Texas City had been having the same kinds of problems, if their communications could be believed.

Now, all the bullshit with the lights not working. This was the third time in a month that they'd gone out due to "unidentified electrical failure" and she wasn't buying it anymore. She hadn't bought it the first time as a matter-of-fact, but felt it would be imprudent to say something for fear of coming across as paranoid. When she got off her current shift though, she would definitely bring it up with the Council of Five. Chief Judge Pike alone, if possible. He was a very busy man after all. If they wouldn't listen, she would go to Dredd and ask him to bring it to their attention. She was lucky enough to be in his good book... or whatever equivalent of that he had after their excursion to the planet Titan. They'd gained a great amount of respect for each other and he was now one of the few she trusted one hundred percent. She was certain he'd take her concerns at face value.

Hershey was drawn out of her contemplation by the sound of an approaching vehicle. From the look of it, it was heading for one of the exits. The one closest to her. She steeled herself for whatever encounter might follow and walked over to the steel grate they'd erected around all the exits.

Her senses, which were constantly on high-alert, sharpened as she saw that it was a large van; dark blue, with non-tinted windows. She heard Judge Nelson approaching from the right and saw him make it to the car ahead of her. She stood close by, figuring he'd be grateful for the back-up even if he didn't know her from Adam. The driver's side window was rolled down.

"Citizen, you are not authorized to drive beyond this point. Free access beyond the walls has been prohibited unless you have been granted express approval from the Council of Five and Chief Judge Pike." From the little Hershey could see inside the car around Nelson's back, the woman behind the wheel appeared way too laid back, looking around with honest interest but not drinking in a word of what Nelson was saying. She was middle-aged, with closely cropped dark-purple hair and a mouth that was up-tilted, giving the impression that she was very prone to smiling. Hershey couldn't help wondering if she was one of those creepy child-shrinks.

"Ma'am. Did you hear what I just said?" Nelson asked evenly.

The woman looked a little startled and exclaimed, "Yes, yes. Hold on a moment, please. Let me get you those signatures." The woman started rummaging in a satchel sitting on the passenger seat, causing Hershey (and Nelson too probably) to become just that much more on edge.

Hershey took comfort in the firm grip she kept on her Lawgiver as Nelson said: "I will need to see identification also."

Another few seconds and the woman handed Nelson a PADD and a small ID card which he took a few minutes to inspect. Hershey wanted very much to look over his shoulder or to ask to inspect them also, but that was just the paranoia talking.

"Everything looks to be in order." Nelson handed her items back and walked over to the control building to open the gate. Usually someone from Control did that, but the judges had been put specifically in charge of the gates after a few too many power outages –like the current one– had taken place.

Hershey, who'd decided to keep an eye on the woman while he took care of that, felt lucky when whoever-she-was (who looked like the chatty type) didn't try to engage her in conversation, and just sat there humming tunelessly. When the gate opened the woman put her van in drive and gave Hershey a polite "have a good night" before moving on.

Hershey didn't continue walking the perimeter though. She stood right where she was until Nelson closed the gate once more and returned. She didn't beat around the bush, jumping into it immediately. "Did she really have permission from the Chief?"

"Yes. From him and the Council. She's a teacher of some sort," he added arbitrarily.

"Do you know why she was going out there?"

Nelson shook his head. "Classified, apparently." He sounded just as perplexed as she felt.

"Maybe she's going to another city," Hershey put in, not believing it even as the words left her mouth. If the woman had really gotten special authorization, surely they would have let her take a hovercraft. Had she been given a secret assignment? The woman hadn't looked like a Judge, but one couldn't always _truly_ tell out of uniform. All the same, she made a note to mention this to Dredd, as well. Definitely.

She and Nelson both brooded in silence for a bit longer then began walking along the perimeter again in opposite directions, waiting for the lights to come back on or another band of mutants to attack, unsettled.

**OOO**

After being pulled from sleep late at night and brought to the Justice Building with all haste and told that she was needed to read the minds of some new captives, Cassandra Anderson had not been expecting to feel bored. After all, perps were usually brought to the interrogation cubes for that. She hadn't been expecting them to be ten, tongue-less mutant kids either.

She'd done as she'd been ordered though.

After working her way tediously through nine dull, slow minds, she was starting to feel dull and slow herself. None of the kids had had any useful information because they simply hadn't cared what was going to be done with them, or where they were, or even who the men were. All they cared about was getting properly fed. She felt like she was seven years old again, trapped with other orphans whose thoughts and feelings were so yawningly vacant.

The consciousnesses behind the two-way mirror were getting bored too. The Council of Five, Chief Pike, several SJS and Psi-Div members. They had been bright and pulsing with interest three hours ago, now they were dim, thoughts flickering randomly from subject to subject. Most of them were as eager for this to end as she was. It was annoyingly distracting. How the fuck did they expect her to concentrate on the task at hand when bacon and doughnuts kept flitting across their minds?

 _Only one left. Only one_. _Thank God._ Maybe they would let her finish her sleep.

This room was usually used for a different method of was questioning and was rather small, but a table and chairs had been squeezed inside somehow. Cassie had been having the children sit in one of the chairs while she knelt beside them. Her knees and thighs ached from the position.

A judge brought in the last child and set her in the chair. The girl was small, like all of them, pale and twisted. Her hair was lanky brown and tangled around her face. She didn't huddle in on herself like they others had. She sat as straight as she could in the chair that was much too big for her. Her toes barely brushed the floor.

Her eyes were different from the others, Cassie noticed instantly. The life that shone out of them was vivid and intense. Intelligent and aware in a way the others had not been. They were a beautiful deep green, the color of emeralds.

"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you," Cassie found herself murmuring. She placed her hands on either side of the girl's head and closed her eyes. She allowed her mind to meld with the child's as gently as possible. Pushing through the confusion and fright at the initial breach and searching for a space where they could communicate.

After flitting rapidly through a series of emotions and images, Cassie found a plane that was calm and steady. She focused on it, trying to draw the girl there with her.

Cassie blinked open her mind-eyes and found herself in a bedroom that couldn't belong in any building other than a Mega-Block. The ceiling and floor were made of concrete. The walls probably were too, but she couldn't tell for certain as the entirety of it was covered with colorful chalk designs that seemed to shift and change if she tried to look too closely.

Sitting at a small desk in the corner was a little girl with deeply tanned skin and silky dark hair that had been brushed until it shone. She was writing in a pocket diary but closed it on a finger and laid her pen aside at Cassie's approach. Her green eyes were filled with caution and something that looked liked loathing.

Cassie really didn't want to force information out of her if she didn't necessarily have to, so she asked softly, "What's your name?"

The girl eyed her suspiciously. "I don't have one. You can call me whatever you like... How about Anna?"

"That'll work just fine," Cassie said, kneeling beside her chair, mirroring the position her physical body was in, in the interrogation room. "I need to ask you some questions, Anna. Will you answer them honestly for me?"

The girl hesitated. "Is this real?"

"Sort of. I'm a psychic and we're inside your head right now, so I can talk to you. Is this your room?" It was an idiotic question. The answer was so obvious.

"It was a long time ago," the girl answered.

Cassie tried to look as harmless and nonthreatening as possible. She took a breath that she didn't technically need before she proceeded. "Those men you were with, did they kidnap you?"

The girl looked at her with an impressive amount of disdain for one so young. "No.”

When nothing more seemed forthcoming, Cassie pressed her. “Why were you with them?”

The girl gave a one-shouldered shrug. “They were asking kids to join them. They said that we would be fed, taught to read and write, trained with guns.”

Cassie wished that Pike and the Council had briefed her more thoroughly before they'd had her do this. "Where were they taking you?" Cassie asked, maintaining a calm mask with difficulty.

"Dunno," the girl answered simply, returning to her diary. Her pen zipped across the page. Cassie refrained from taking a peek. It was awfully tempting. "Out of the city."

"Were they the ones who cut out your tongue?"

The girl shook her head then brushed the escaped hair behind her ears again. "I don't remember who did that. Some boys..." her expression darkened and she stopped writing for a second. Cassie blocked her own mind from the memories that threatened to invade. She needed to stick her current task. Now wasn’t an opportune time to be overwhelmed.

"The men we found you with, do you know who they were?”

The girl narrowed her eyes and gave Cassie a look that made it clear she thought she was incredibly stupid. "Nero."

When Cassie asked who that was all she received was a sly look. "He helps people like us. That's all I know. I never got the chance to meet him. He moves around a lot," she stated matter-of-factly.

"He helps mutants, you mean?"

Redness infused the girls cheeks at that. " _People,_ " she insisted. That loathing returned tenfold and she refused to speak to Cassie again.

Cassie wasn't inclined to linger in the girl's mind any longer and she'd already gotten some potentially useful information. She felt strange and unsteady when she returned to her own body.

She stood and faced the two-way mirror, ignoring the way her joints and muscles protested. She didn't want to look in Anna's face again, those eyes that called her a traitor. "I'm going to need to see the other kids again. I have a name to run by them."

**OOO**

Jim grimaced when he caught sight of his reflection on his way up the steps into the Hall of Justice. He'd eaten a good breakfast, showered and shaved, listened to upbeat music. Yet dark circles persisted in ringing his eyes and he looked drawn and ragged. He didn't even attempt to put on his usual semi-cocky grin, knowing how ghoulish it would it look on him today.

He'd gotten more than enough sleep last night. More than he was accustomed to. Yet he'd still woken exhausted. It seemed to be a mental state rather than a purely physical one, and he was determined to jump back into work.

The marble entrance hall was always teeming with people, most of them in a great hurry. The pungent smells of sweat and soot from on-duty judges mingled oddly with the crisp, fresh smells of shampoo, perfume and cologne from others, along with coffee and sugar-free baked goods. Many people were munching and drinking as they walked while still attempting to carry on conversations.

Jim added his footsteps to the cacophony of echoes from the hundreds of others, giving polite nods to judges and random personnel he recognized. He wished he'd thought to keep his helmet on. He _could_ put it on now, but that would be incredibly idiotic seeing as he'd taken it off right before he stepped inside the building. Bad habit.

He avoided people's curious eyes, especially the few that were unmistakably sympathetic as he wended his way determinedly to the elevators. He had to fight to squeeze himself into the crowded space of one and press button 78. There were only two large rooms on that floor and Jim was headed to one of them. The Chief's office. He'd never been there before and might have once looked forward to seeing it for the first time.

The elevators were very fast, but with over twenty stops to make it seemed to take forever. Eventually it stopped at floor 78 and Jim had to fight not to dash out, even though it was almost empty by that point. Mandy from Control gave him a quick pat on his forearm as he left and Jim clenched his teeth. Everyone from Control knew. Bad news traveled fast.

He felt ashamed of himself. He was a Judge. How was he supposed to command respect and fear if all anyone felt was sorry for him? Not that any perps would ever know about it, yet it was still humiliating. He stood still for a second; pinching the bridge of his nose while trying to keep his growing temper in check. When it had sunk to a more placid level he went in search of Pike.

He didn't have far to look. The Chief's office was immediately ahead of him, behind an oak door that needed some serious polishing. It was labeled with a small unburnished plaque that read: **Chief Judge's Office**. He guessed they never inscribed the name of the current chief on it since the person occupying the position tended to change every year or so. Pike had been the Chief for a little over a year-and-a-half now. It was something of a record.

Jim rapped his knuckles firmly against the door, figuring it was just good manners to knock first. He pulled his hand back quickly when he realized he'd left several new scratches on it. "Shit..."

Not half-a-moment later, Pike called out: "Come on in!" He sounded slightly irritated and Jim felt a smile pulling at his lips as he stepped inside. It had been a long time since he'd last seen Pike and he'd missed the old bastard.

The walls of the Chief's office were made of plate-glass and the view they offered was the first thing Jim noticed upon setting foot inside it. They offered a broad, breathtaking view of Mega-City One and it looked almost beautiful from a healthy distance. Especially when the gray concrete was awash with the soft pinkish-orange light of early morning, innumerable pastel shades, as the sun rose valiantly from behind the thick clouds of smog that always enveloped the city. But it also looked so _so_ vast, like it encompassed the entire world. The only one he knew.

 _Not always_ , he reminded himself. There had been something else once, though he could hardly remember it at all now.

The second thing he noticed was Pike was seated at a large desk with three computers and many precariously stacked documents; starched, pure white papers poked out of their folders, some actually drooping towards the floor. Pike had to be the only person in the world who, when he said paperwork, meant it _literally_. Most everyone now did their "paperwork" on computers, but Christopher Pike had always been notoriously distrustful of that method as nearly every citizen in all the Mega-Cities now had some degree of aptitude when it came to hacking.

Pike's frown disappeared in an instant when he saw that it was Jim, and then reappeared once more as he took in his countenance. He set the manila file he'd been perusing on his desk none too gently, causing several groupings to tip slightly closer to the edge.

"Come on in, Judge. Take a seat." He gestured to the two chairs before his desk. "You came just in time to end my torment."

The chairs were made of metal and extremely straight-backed. Jim sighed as he settled into one, holding his helmet in his lap. It was even more uncomfortable than it looked. No human's back could be so unnaturally straight. It just wasn't possible.

"We don't have much time to talk I'm afraid, so I'll try to make this fast. Did you get the message I sent you this morning?"

"Yes, sir." He'd read the report about the mutants picked up at Willow Grove, the escaped perps. He thought he knew what Pike wanted ever since he'd finished reading it; to track them down. Jim was already preparing to relish the task.

Pike leaned over his desk and gazed at him seriously over his steepled fingers, all business. "I don't think I need to explain to you the critical situation we find ourselves in. It's always been difficult enough to maintain order in the cities _without_ outside interference. And now we're facing possibly the worst threat since Death. Not only are our citizens turning against us and helping the mutants, but we believe that there may be several or more judges helping them too."

Jim didn't bother feigning surprise, but he read the worry and anger on Pike's face and tried not to take it close to heart. His own was already heavy with personal worries and he didn't want to shoulder anyone else's.

"We've had the SJS investigating, of course, but they haven't uncovered anyone yet. It's only a matter of time before they do." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that that was true. "Several maintenance units have been arrested and interrogated about the numerous power outages we've had. Still nothing. Even worse, we think that whoever is working with the mutants isn't motivated by monetary gain. I had you come here today, because I trust you entirely. You're one of the only ones actually. The Council of Five doesn't even know about this meeting."

Jim's attention sharpened at that.

"We had a member of the Psi-Division trying to extract information from the mutants’ minds, as you already know from the report. She didn't uncover much, but she did discover from one of them, that the perps were taking orders from a man called Nero. He's been managing to sneak out weapons, helping to rally the mutants. The mutants are under the impression that some kind of training takes place outside the walls. They seem to be building their own army out there. We also believe," Pike looked very grim for a moment, "that we may be the ones responsible for supplying their "soldiers"." He said the word with subtle disgust.

"Every time we've exiled a mutant to the Cursed Earth," Jim noted unnecessarily.

"Exactly. The Council of Five and I are meeting in a few hours to discuss it. The most likely solution is that we'll now confine mutants to the Iso-Cubes."

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pushing down the protestations that attempted to make their way out of his mouth.

"That's neither here nor there," said Pike waving it away, looking dissatisfied. "What I want is for you to track down this... _Nero_. Find him, but try not to kill him. I want to know what he's planning. Whether his so-called _army_ wants to destroy the city, or if they want to take it over, or just plain old glory. Just find this man, Jim."

"Is that all, sir?" He was very eager to get started; to do _something_ , to have a goddamn purpose.

"No." He cast a hollow grin, Jim's way. "The Council had instated two knew policies for the judges that I want to make you aware of. First, the Council believes that the judges have been given far too long a leash lately –that's me paraphrasing– so all of them, unless they're senior judges or heads of their divisions, have to turn in their PADD's."

Jim's first impulse was to shout _WHAT?_ , but he managed to hold his tongue. "Okay," was all he could think to say, feeling like a heavy weight had dropped into his stomach. Then he kind of wanted to laugh at himself for getting so upset over losing a frivolous electronic device. "What's number two, sir?"

"A majority of the judges are going to be ordered to pair up until our current situation has been resolved. We've lost far too many lately and the Council felt it would be safest for everyone."

"Let me guess. The judge I'm partnering with is also going to be helping me search for Nero."

"You guessed right,” Pike said dryly. “He was specifically chosen by me, obviously, so no complaining."

"Who is it?" Jim asked warily.

Pike watched his face closely when he answered. "Judge Dredd."

"Ah, okay." That weight in his stomach kept on getting heavier. "Why, uh, him?"

"Because you haven't been a judge that long, so it made sense to pair you with someone that has more experience in the field. Also, he was the one who found those perps at Willow Grove and he's going to be trying to hunt them down anyway. Do you have a problem with him?"

"No," Jim said hurriedly. That wasn't exactly a lie. He didn't have a problem with Judge Dredd himself, but clones had always made him uneasy. This wasn't just some clone, he had to remind himself, this was _the_ Dredd.

Somehow that made it even less appealing.

"Good!" Pike clapped his hands together. "Even though you're no longer going to have a PADD, Dredd is allowed to keep his and you'll communicate directly with me through it. Do _not_ contact Control if you find anything related to the case. If there _are_ traitors in Control they'll contact the corrupt judges and we'll have another scene like the one that happened last night. If you encounter any other crimes on your way –which is a guarantee– feel free to take care of them normally but don't prioritize them over the assignment I've given you."

Jim nodded his head with growing trepidation. Was there anything else to say?

"Well then. Dredd is going to be here in thirty minutes, He's supposed to be anyway. That should give you time to go back to your sector house, get your PADD and turn it in. Dredd will meet you on the front steps when you're finished with that. Anything else you need to know?"

"No, sir."

"In that case, get out of here," Pike said, glancing disgustedly at the mountains of paperwork and the screens of his computers. "I've got work to do, as well." He looked as exhausted as Jim felt.

**OOO**

Judge Christopher Pike didn't look happy. He had been very prone to frowning ever since the Council of Five had voted him in as the new Chief a year-and-a-half ago. This was hardly surprising given the stress of the job, especially now, with the new dire situations befalling the city. But when Dredd walked into his office, which was situated on one of the upper floors of the Hall of Justice, Pike's expression shifted from its general air of grimness into a full-on scowl. He rose from behind his desk (which was overflowing, as always, with important-looking documents and several different computers) and walked around it to stand in front of Dredd, leaving only a foot of space between them.

Dredd was still a little weary from last night’s efforts and his arm right arm ached a bit, so, when Chief Pike crossed his arms and gave him a look that said he currently ought to be confessing something, Dredd was less happy about it than usual. He had a slight idea what it might be about, but he was not fond of playing guessing games and chose to remain silent.

Pike didn't waste time with early morning pleasantries (who had time for that?). "DuPont told me that after having your arm taken care of, you blatantly disregarded her recommendation of getting at least five _real_ hours of sleep. She told me you used a sleep-machine… and not only that, right afterward you went back out onto the streets trying to track the perps down. You knew I wanted to talk to you this morning. _Alive_. You know what I want you to do."

"You didn't order me to keep off the streets until then," Dredd pointed sardonically.

Pike's eyes narrowed. "I'd thought that was self-explanatory, as I _did_ order you to forgo your regular schedule."

Dredd opened his mouth to make another point, but the Chief cut him off. "Yes, I'm aware that technically you weren't following one. But dammit, no judge is safe these days. Not even _you_ , as was made infinitely clear last night. You're the best Judge we've got Dredd. Everyone knows it. This city can't afford to lose you. Especially not now. You will begin following my orders and start taking the medics’ advice more seriously. Do I make myself clear?" He was positively glaring now, blue eyes hard.

"Yes, sir," Dredd agreed reluctantly, feeling prickly at the reprimand and the ridiculous insinuation that he wasn't concerned with his own well-being. And there was no possible way he could have sat idly by after last night's events.

Dredd was livid about it. They'd been ambushed while transporting the pat wagons containing the perps, mutants and weapons (which had been packed in the metal crates) from Willow Grove to the Hall of Justice last night. Three Judges had been gunned down and Dredd had taken a shot to the arm which, though hardly fatal, had been enough to keep him from raising it. The bullet had lodged itself in one of his joints, making any movement excruciating. He'd had little choice but to crouch to the ground and hope fervently that he wasn't about to get shot in the head while he fumbled with the grenades at his belt. By the time he'd been able to pull one free, the masked criminals had already slipped away into the dark, taking the two perps and the weapons with them. The children had been left alone, however and Dredd had at least managed to deliver them safely to the Justice Department.

"Good," the Chief said abruptly. "Now please, take a seat. So I can fill you in on why you're here." He gestured to one of the uncomfortable seats in front of his desk. Dredd chose to stand. Both seats were made of titanium, very uncomfortable. They were essentially reminders to anyone who visited that he'd rather you didn't take up too much of his precious time.

Seated, Chief Pike had to look up to Dredd, which felt bizarrely inappropriate for their respective stations. If the Chief noticed, it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He'd always been a strong-willed, self-assured man. It was something that bought both Dredd's admiration and irritation, depending on how much their respective opinions differed.

He listened without interrupting as the Chief outlined what he wanted from him. Basically, he was supposed to help another judge locate Nero. It would be easier said than done, obviously, but Dredd was looking forward to finding the perps who'd shot him. It wasn’t only perfectly plausible to look for them in connection to the assignment, but a necessity.

"Which judge will I be working with?"

"Judge James Kirk. He's from Sector 17." The Chief began scanning through his various computers and occasionally his PADD. "I'm sure you know who he is."

Most Judges knew who Kirk was. It had been something of a scandal when Judge Pike had returned from his mission in the Cursed Earth with a young boy in tow. A young boy who had not only been born and raised beyond the walls, but was also the child of a traitor.

Dredd had only just graduated from the Academy at the time and had his own new life and set of problems to deal with, most notably involving his brother Rico, so he hadn't listened much to the gossip or particularly cared. Still, he hadn’t been unaware of it.

"How long has he been on active duty?" Dredd asked.

"Only two years." Chief Pike gave him an almost amused look. "Ten years ago, you awarded him best marksman in your training sessions at the Academy. He was one of the few trainees who qualified for your sharpshooter lessons."

"I remember." Though Dredd had taught countless people at the Academy over the years, most of whom’s faces he'd forgotten, he did remember James Kirk. Dredd recalled how leery he'd been when he'd found out that George Kirk's son had qualified for the lessons. It turned out that Kirk was one of the best marksmen that Dredd had ever taught. Also the most reckless, which at first glance many instructors mistook for awe-inspiring bravery.

He'd found the boy quite disarming for numerous reasons. Part of it was the manic obsessive way with which he concentrated on learning every task set before him, viewing every single one as an obstacle he had to conquer. It was most notably Kirk's eyes that troubled Dredd the most.

Kirk could have the most calm countenance and perfect posture; he could freeze his face when he was being yelled at or praised. It was impressive, yet even so those eyes gave him away every time, shifting fluidly from earnest to fully pissed off, to deeply concentrated in a matter of seconds as if they were literal windows into his soul. It was... disconcerting and very odd in a judge. Or aspiring judge, as he'd been the last time Dredd had seen him face-to-face.

During their time at the Academy, trainees were expected to be blank slates. Clay to be molded into whatever their instructors wanted them to be. Dredd had heard from others and witnessed firsthand all those years ago, that James Kirk did not care to be molded. He would obey and speak respectively to his superiors, but that spark of rebellion never quite left his eye.

He hadn't seen Kirk since those lessons and there was a very good chance that he'd changed... but Dredd doubted it somehow.

If he sensed Dredd's discontentment, Chief Pike didn't mention it. He didn't resume their conversation at all when the uncountable beeps issuing from his computers became too insistent to ignore any longer. His eyes were fixed on one of the screens as he began typing out a message rapidly. He looked more disgruntled and displeased with every passing moment.

"What do we do if it turns out East-Meg One is involved?" Dredd asked. "That perp on the walkie-talkie, he definitely had the accent."

Pike looked away from his work, thoughtful and troubled. "We'll worry about that if it turns out to be true. Until then we have more than enough problems to deal with. You realize the boundary walls were breached three times last night?"

Another beat of silence. "Where is Judge Kirk?"

"He's waiting on the steps. The entrance steps," Pike specified. Dredd turned to leave. He'd just made it to the door, when the Chief added with un-hidden humor, "You're going to be spending a lot of time with him from here on out, so don't be shy."


End file.
